JACK'S CHRISTMAS MISSION

by Beverly Barton

  Tension drained from Peggy Jo's body as she pushed thoughts of Jack to the back of her mind, concentrating on everything and anything other than the hunk sleeping down the hall. By the time the bath water became lukewarm and all the bubbles had dissolved, Peggy Jo was feeling more like her old self. In control. In charge. Whatever had gotten into her out there in the hall had been an aberration, a temporary deviation from sanity. She had no intention of letting herself fall for some Texas cowboy who had nothing more than a good time on his mind. She was too smart to ever allow herself to be manipulated by a man. Any man. Not even one as devastatingly appealing as Jack.

  * * *

  Jack stood under the showerhead, his face turned upward to accept the full force of the spray. He wanted the water to wash away his thoughts about Peggy Jo Riley. The woman had done a number on him, but how she'd accomplished that feat he didn't know. She had sneaked up on him and caught him off guard. That had to be it. Inch by inch, minute by minute. A smile here. A laugh there. A tentative touch. A hesitant stare. Her womanly wiles hadn't been obvious, nothing blatant, nothing a man could see coming straight at him. This gut-wrenching need to march down the hall and into her room had taken him by surprise. He had made the mistake of thinking Peggy Jo was like every other woman he'd known. She had warned him, hadn't she? How stupid could a guy be?

  Pretty damn stupid, the reply came from the Jack Parker who knew how to charm the ladies, enjoy their company and yet keep them emotionally at arm's length. So how the hell had Peggy Jo gotten close enough to get under his skin?

  And why her? It wasn't as if she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever known. She was pretty enough, in a clean, wholesome sort of way, but no breathtaking beauty. And she was a bit on the plump side, maybe even fat by today's standards of bone-thin females. Peggy Jo was definitely no cover model. And that personality of hers! She certainly wasn't nice, sweet and demure. And she wasn't overtly sexy. But there was a sensuality about her that intrigued him, that made him want her. Despite all her flaws, she was quite a woman, his Peggy Jo.

  His Peggy Jo! His woman?

  As he began to scrub his body, Jack imagined what it would be like if he weren't showering alone, if she were here with him, her soapy hands lathering him from head to toe. Just the thought of her touching him aroused him. His sex swelled and throbbed.

  Damn! He didn't like this turn of events. He didn't like it at all. Oh, it wasn't that he hadn't lusted after a particular woman before—he had. More than once. But this time it was different. This was something more than lust, and that's what bothered him. When a man let himself become emotionally involved, he was in trouble. And heaven help him, he had begun to care about Peggy Jo in a very personal way. She had already become more to him than just a client.

  Get her off your mind, he told himself. Stop thinking of her as a woman and start thinking about her as nothing more than a job. He was in her life to protect her, to guard her night and day. He needed to concentrate on how he could best keep Peggy Jo safe from now until her stalker was caught and put behind bars.

  * * *

  She turned and twisted. She pulled the covers up to her neck, then flung them to her hips. She punched her pillow, then grabbed another and shoved it under her head. Now her head was too high. She jerked the second pillow out from under her head and tossed it on the floor. She glanced at the lit digital clock on the bedside table. Twelve twenty-seven. Why was she still awake at this hour of the night? She should have been asleep two hours ago. She had tried counting sheep, but the woolly creatures had suddenly turned into hundreds of Jack Parkers jumping over a fence and coming straight at her. Then she had tried meditating and began chanting a one-syllable word, trying to erase all thoughts from her mind. She had made the mistake of choosing the word oh. The more she repeated the word in her mind, the slower the repetition became, until she was moaning the word while visions of Jack's big hands caressing her body tormented her unbearably.

  Her entire body ached with need, unlike anything she'd ever experienced in her life. She'd never had desire drive her crazy. Not like this.

  You can control it, she told herself. Get up, go downstairs and do something. Fix yourself some hot cocoa. Watch a movie on TV. Eat a piece of German chocolate cake.

  She jumped out of bed, slid her feet into her house slippers and grabbed her robe lying at the foot of the bed. Visions of delectable chocolate cake swirled about in her head as she made her way along the hall, tiptoeing, being careful not to disturb anyone. She forced herself not to glance at Jack's open bedroom door, but she did pause momentarily to sneak a peek at her sleeping daughter. Then she rushed downstairs.

  Moonlight illuminating the kitchen let her see well enough to make her way to the sink, where she immediately turned on the small fluorescent light fixture beneath the window cornice. A diffused glow of cream-white light washed over the small area. Trying to be as quiet as possible, she took a plate from the cupboard and a knife and fork from the silverware drawer, then crept over to the crystal cake plate. Relief was only a moment away. Chocolate Sugar. Coconut. Pecans. A foodaholic's quick fix to any problem. Even now, after years of retraining herself, the guru of "love thyself, help thyself" sometimes fell off the wagon.

  She lifted the crystal dome, set it aside and sliced a huge piece of cake, then put the slice on her plate and replaced the dome. Maybe she could find something to watch on TV while she indulged herself. After she cuddled up on the sofa, her feet tucked under her, she turned on the television but quickly muted the sound. She found a home-shopping program that was selling jewelry. She didn't have to hear the saleswoman in order to enjoy looking at the gold, silver and gemstone items.

  First she sniffed the cake, savoring the aroma. Then she cut into it with her fork and quickly brought the bite to her mouth. The first bite was good, the second even better. The third was scrumptious. And every bite after that was sheer heaven.

  Food was better than sex, wasn't it? And a whole lot less dangerous. A piece of cake or pie never broke a girl's heart. A candy bar never punched a woman in the nose or gave her a black eye. An ice cream cone never disappointed anyone or led a person to expect more from it than it was willing to give.

  She didn't need a man! What woman needed a man when she could give herself pleasure when she needed it? Peggy Jo chuckled at her own cleverness.

  Tears sprang into her eyes quite suddenly. Unexpected tears. What was wrong with her? Why wasn't the chocolate cake working its magic? Why wasn't she feeling better?

  Why couldn't she stop wanting Jack Parker?

  * * *

  Jack opened the den door quietly, not wanting to startle Peggy Jo. He had known the minute she left her room, but had waited a couple of minutes before going out into the hall and following her. He had stopped a moment at Wendy's door to check on her and Fur Ball, then made his way downstairs. He knew where Peggy Jo was because he saw light coming from beneath the door.

  He stopped dead still in the doorway the minute he saw her. She sat on the sofa, curled up, her feet tucked under her, her long, wavy hair falling freely below her shoulder blades, as she stared at the silent television. She held an empty plate in her hand. Huge teardrops glistened on her eyelashes. And a smear of chocolate smudged the corner of her mouth. She was, without a doubt, the sweetest temptation he'd ever seen.

  You must be losing your freaking mind! he told himself.

  The edge of her yellow-and-white-striped flannel gown hung a couple of inches below the bulky, yellow terry cloth robe, and the tips of her fuzzy yellow house shoes peeked out from beneath the hem. This woman was no sexy, alluring babe. But she called to him on every level a woman can speak to a man. To his mind, his heart, his body. And yes, even his soul. Something inside him recognized her, knew her, wanted her more than life itself.

  Get real, Jacky-boy, what you want is to get laid.

  Okay, so he wanted that, too. But right now he was satisfied just to look at her. Maybe he should go back upstairs and let her
have her privacy. She'd obviously found satisfaction in eating a piece of Hetty's German chocolate cake and in having a good cry. Too bad there wasn't a six-pack in the fridge. He wouldn't mind finding a little oral satisfaction himself.

  Ah, hell, why had he used that word? Oral. It conjured up images he was better off without at the present moment. He had to stop thinking about Peggy Jo as a desirable woman and remember she was a client in jeopardy, whose very life could be in danger. But try as he might, looking at her right now, all he could see was a lovely, vulnerable, compelling lady in need of his comfort. The one question—the only question—was, could he comfort her without his solace turning into something more?

  Close the door quietly, he told himself. Turn around and leave her alone. She's a big girl. She can take care of herself. She doesn't need you or any man. Wasn't that what she preached on her television show and in her books? She was self-sufficient. So, leave her the hell alone.

  Just as he started to take his own good advice, he realized that she must have sensed his presence. She glanced away from the TV screen and looked straight at him. Her soft, full lips parted in a surprised gasp, and he could tell by the wistful look in her eyes that she didn't want him to leave. Whether she realized it or not, Peggy Jo needed something from him. A shoulder to cry on? A pal to listen to her troubles? A little friendly concern or even sympathy? Or maybe just a pair of strong arms to hold her? Whatever she needed, he was her man.

  Damn! He didn't like the sound of that, even if it was only a figure of speech. He wasn't her man. Jack Parker was his own man. No woman had ever owned him.

  "I hope I didn't wake you when I came downstairs," she said, that please-don't-leave-me expression still on her face.

  "Nope. I was awake." The truth was he'd never been asleep. He'd been lying in bed with a hard-on, thinking about her.

  Jack stayed in the doorway, as a wise inner voice tried to talk him out of going into the den. You'll regret it if you do.

  "You didn't need to check on me," she told him. "And you don't have to stay with me. I'm fine."

  Ah, hell! As he entered the den, he closed the door behind him, then walked across the room and sat beside her on the sofa. She stared at him with those incredible green eyes, and he suddenly felt as if he'd been poleaxed in the gut.

  You're beyond saving, Jacky-boy. This little lady's got a hold on you.

  He licked his thumb, then reached out and slid his damp thumb across the corner of her mouth, washing away the dab of chocolate. She inhaled deeply and held her breath for a moment, releasing it in a nervous, sensual sigh when he put his thumb to his lips.

  "Jack … I … we…" She stammered, as if searching for the right words and unable to find them.

  Okay, so bringing this sexual tension thing between them out in the open was going to be up to him. No need to try to put a pretty face on this mess or sidestep the issue. "How about we both lay our cards on the table? Let's just be up-front with each other about what's going on here. I'll go first if you want me to."

  She nodded her head with quick, jerking movements. "Yes, you go first, please."

  "All right." He now realized that he shouldn't have sat beside her, and he damn well shouldn't have touched her. Jack eased to the opposite end of the sofa. "Plain and simple—we want each other." When she opened her mouth to comment, he lifted his hand in a stop gesture. "Let me finish."

  She nodded again, then waited.

  "I don't like what's happened between us any more than you do," he said. "And I've got to be honest with you, I sure as hell don't understand it. We've known each other only a few days, and although I've … er … bedded a woman on shorter acquaintance, I've never felt—" He cleared his throat. "It's not just sex, you know. I like you. I like you a lot. And I care about you. About what happens to you. And not just because you're a client."

  She stared at him, her eyes shimmering with tears. Heaven help him if he said the wrong thing. Despite her tough-gal facade, Peggy Jo had a soft underbelly that most of the world didn't see. She was a woman who had been brutally hurt in the past. The last thing he wanted was to ever cause her more pain.

  "The truth is, I want to have sex with you, and I shouldn't because you're a client," he told her. She didn't so much as blink an eye. "And you should know that it would be only a temporary thing for me. I'm not the kind of guy for long-term commitments. I don't want a ring on my finger or in my nose. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

  "Yes, I understand." She slid her legs off the sofa and let her feet touch the floor, then straightened her shoulders and tilted her chin. "You want us to have sex, but you don't want to marry me."

  "Yeah." Man, hearing her say it made him sound like a womanizing jerk. Okay, so he was a womanizer. But he'd never been a jerk. "Believe me, as a general rule I don't sleep with my clients. Heck, usually I'm not even attracted to them. But, Peggy Jo Riley, there's something about you that I can't resist."

  As she swiped the tears from her eyes with her fingertips, she laughed softly. "You're a real sweet-talker, Jack. I bet you've been able to get any woman you ever wanted, just by telling her what you thought she wanted to hear."

  "Ah, shucks, ma'am, you flatter me," he said. "But I've got to admit that there have been a couple of ladies I wasn't able to charm." He laid his hand across the back of the sofa and leaned forward, closer to her. "You, for one."

  A sad smile replaced her temporary laughter. "Don't beat yourself up about it. I'm different from most women, so you shouldn't consider your attempt to charm me a failure. I find you charming, even likable. And as Hetty keeps pointing out to me, you're a good man. But I don't need a man. Any man. Not even you."

  Instinctively he moved closer, spanning the distance that he had only minutes before placed between them. "Needing and wanting aren't the same thing. Don't lie to yourself. You may not need me, but you want me."

  "I want a lot of things I can't have, but—"

  "Darling, you can have me. Anywhere. Anytime."

  A smile played at the corners of her mouth. She found him amusing. That was good, wasn't it? he asked himself. He grinned at her as he eased his arm from the back of the sofa to drape her shoulders.

  She stiffened the moment he touched her. "Back off, Jack," she said. "I can't breathe when you get this close."

  Oh, Peggy Jo, my darling, do you have any idea what that simple admission told me about your true feelings? He lifted his arm from her shoulders and returned it to the back of the sofa, but he didn't move away from her.

  "Thank you," she said.

  "Sure. No problem."

  "Since neither of us can sleep, would you like some decaf coffee or some hot cocoa?" she asked.

  "No, nothing for me," he replied. "But if you want—"

  "I don't. I was just trying to make conversation, to be polite."

  Jack placed his hands on the top of his thighs and patted his fingers up and down against his pajama bottoms. "So, what do we do now? Watch TV? Play cards? Swap war stories?"

  "Swap war stories?" she asked. "Are you suggesting we spend our sleepless night getting to know each other better?"

  "Sure. Why not? That is, if you're sure you're totally opposed to our fooling around a little."

  "I'm sure," she replied.

  "So, who goes first this time?"

  "You went first before, so I suppose it's my turn."

  "Start in the beginning, with 'I was born a precious little redheaded doll' and go from there."

  His amusing comment gained him one of her smiles. "I was born a precious redheaded doll, with parents who adored me. I lived a happy, normal life until I was seven and my mother died. My father seemed to dote on me after that and we became closer than we'd ever been. I adored my daddy." She paused, took a deep breath and continued. "When I was thirteen, my father met a woman named Agnes, who became determined to become the next Mrs. McNair. Agues put on a good show of liking me, until after she and Daddy married when I was fourteen. Then she became the proverbia
l stepmother from hell. When I was seventeen, I ran away from home and wound up marrying the first guy who came along."

  "Buck Forbes?"

  "Oh, yeah. Buck. Good ole Buck." Peggy Jo stiffened her spine, as if arming herself to do battle. "Agnes tormented me and made my life unbearable, but I didn't know anything about misery until Buck took over every aspect of my life. He told me when to get up, when to go to bed. How to dress, what I could say, what I could and couldn't do. And if he thought I'd disobeyed him, even in the most inconsequential way, he'd use me as a punching bag."

  "Oh, Peggy Jo … darling…" Jack longed to take her in his arms, to promise her that he'd be around from now on to make sure nothing and no one ever hurt her again. Why was it that she brought out all the protective, possessive instincts within him?

  "I was young and scared and had nowhere to go," she said. "The only relative I had—other than my father—was my mother's sister's daughter, but Betsy was just a few years older than I was, and she was working her way through college and … afterward, when I was honest with her about my life with Buck, she told me I should have come to her, that she'd have found a way to have helped me."

  "You told me the first day we met that you miscarried a child, and after that happened you decided to leave Buck."

  "No, that's … not … exactly right." Her voice cracked with emotion. "I'd decided to leave Buck a dozen times before that, but I'd never had the courage. After I lost my baby, I felt I didn't have anything else to lose. At that point I didn't care if he killed me."

  "That's when you went to a women's shelter?"

  "Mmm-hmm. And while I was there, I took out a restraining order on Buck and filed for divorce. I was twenty-one, and I thought my life was over. It took me six years to reinvent myself. I went back to school, worked two jobs, put myself on a diet and took a couple of self-improvement classes. Then one day I realized that I could do a better job of teaching women how to like themselves and take care of themselves than anyone teaching those classes.